Chapter Two Lor Aphelion The Umbra
Islam the glass onto the filthy countertop, a slug of fire whisky burning down my throat. A random elbow digs into my spine, and I toss a glare over my shoulder. It goes entirely unnoticed. Far too many people are stuffed within these rickety walls, and it’s so crowded that I can barely move or hear myself think. But the seedy, worn-out taverns of The Umbra are ideal for picking up the snippets of gossip and possible information we so desperately need.
A loose-knit cap disguises my hair, and generous clothing hides any hint of my curves. At a quick glance, I appear like a man barely old enough to grow a beard.
This place is a dump. A row of grimy windows filter in weak sunlight while a few feeble sconces attempt to make up the difference. The floor is so sticky that I’m considering burning these boots.
I signal to the bartender for another drink. He’s low fae with silvery skin, a thatch of bright green hair, and a cocky smile. He wears nothing on top but a scant leather vest, revealing a chest stacked with glistening muscles. The view, at least, isn’t the worst.
“Same again?” he asks with a lazy half smile, and I nod, feeling a set of eyes burn into the back of my neck from across the room. Looking over my shoulder, I glimpse Nadir sitting in the corner with his arms crossed so tightly I’m surprised he hasn’t crushed a rib. Even under his hood, I sense the disapproving scowl on his too-beautiful face.
He’s pissed the bartender is flirting with me, even though he’s flirting with everyone, and I wish this High Fae prince would just calm the fuck down.
Has he become more possessive since that fateful night in the Heart Castle when I lost my calm and screamed that I’d never belong to him? The memory makes me wince every time it leaks into my thoughts. Which is a lot.
My magic lurches under my skin, reminding me of what it wants. Like I need the hint. Like Nadir doesn’t already occupy my head and my heart and spirit, and I can’t shake him loose. But I refuse to let on how much he continues to affect me.
Nor can I admit that maybe I regret drawing that line in the sand.
But I can’t lose sight of my purpose, and I refuse to put up with his territorial Fae bullshit.
Under his cloak, he’s dressed in his usual black, though he’s opted for something a little less polished than his standard suits, with a tunic and casual pants. It doesn’t do anything to make him look any less devastating.
I sigh, accepting the glass the bartender lays in front of me and tossing the contents back as I attempt to tune out Nadir’s presence and tune into the surrounding conversations.
We all arrived in the city about a week ago and have been piecing together the current landscape in Aphelion, intending to infiltrate the Sun Palace without attracting attention from Atlas. While we expected this to be a simple matter of sneaking inside—relatively speaking, of course—it seems we’ve landed in a roiling pot thanks to the upcoming bonding ceremony combined with the unrest stirring in The Umbra. Nadir wants us to be careful and take our time before making any moves we can’t take back.
Amya has eyes and ears everywhere, and they all confirm Atlas still has scouts and spies searching for something. Or someone, in this case. And that he’s doing so with increasing regularity, becoming less and less discreet, suggesting he’s growing more desperate. That knowledge could work for or against us, but we’ve yet to determine which. The one positive is that he appears so confident about his dominion over Aphelion that he isn’t searching within its walls. Still, I tug down on my hat because I’m not taking any chances.
How I wish I could storm up to the palace and demand an explanation, but the Mirror has to be my first priority. That and getting my magic back.
My glass is empty again, and I stare at it. The tavern’s conversation focuses on increasing worries about the low haul counts from The Umbra’s fishing nets and traps. Catching sea life is one of the few ways the low fae can pay for their needs, and their concern throbs through the atmosphere like a gathering storm.
Amya’s spies have also determined that Atlas postponed the bonding ceremony yet again, but that news has little impact on The Umbra. I understand why. What difference does Atlas’s bonding to Apricia make to any of them? The citizens of The Umbra’s interests are centered on finding food and supplies while working around Atlas’s oppressive laws.
As I wait for the bartender to notice my empty drink, warmth at the back of my neck has me casting another quick glance at Nadir. I try to resist but can’t help how he draws me in. My locked magic has been going wild since I denied him, and it’s furious with me.
He’s watching me and doesn’t try to hide it. Leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed, he’s glaring at everyone around him while somehow making it feel like I’m the only one in the room he sees.
While no one appears to recognize him as the Aurora Prince, he carries himself in a way that definitely draws attention. This is no downtrodden citizen of The Umbra.
Thankfully, he’s not the only noble who darkens these corners. Dozens of Aphelion High Fae nobles traverse the streets, eating at the restaurants, drinking at the bars, and frequenting the brothels.
I’ve heard that elves and pixies are an especially alluring delicacy for the High Fae, and it’s not hard to see why. They’re all stunning with their soft, pearlescent skin and curvaceous bodies. I’m not sure what their treatment is like, but I’ve been assured they’re at least paid well for their services. Not that it matters when you’re low fae in Aphelion, since living in one of the nicer, more affluent districts is forbidden for their kind.
I’ve thought constantly about the low fae I saw in The Aurora. Which is worse? Being conscripted to Rion’s mines or living under an illusion of freedom, confined by Atlas’s rules? I fume at the way Atlas lied to my face about this, too. He’d outright said the people of The Umbra were free to leave at any time, but conveniently failed to mention they aren’t actually allowed to buy a house or property anywhere else in Aphelion.
Was anything he said to me real? What I wouldn’t do to get in a room alone with him and force him to reveal every scheming, lying thought in his head.
I scan the bar, finding Tristan in another far corner, conversing with a group of dwarves. Amya and Willow are in another quarter of The Umbra, seeing what else they can pick up. I don’t like Willow being so far away from us, but I know Amya will protect her.
“Lor?” comes a voice, and I flinch, my gaze sliding to the corner of my eye.
Callias, Aphelion’s most-coveted-stylist-with-a-very-long-cock, stands a few feet away with his hand on the bar. “Is that you?”
Keeping my focus on the glass between my hands, I pretend to ignore him, hoping he’ll think he’s mistaken me for someone else.
“I know it’s you,” he says, coming closer. “That silly hat doesn’t fool me.”
Still gazing into the depth of my glass, I mumble, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He scoffs and then bends down so his mouth is next to my ear.
“Nice try, Tribute. What are you doing here?”
Finally, I glare at him. “Shhh. Keep your voice down.”
He rolls his eyes and straightens up as I look away. While I continue staring into my glass with my shoulders hunched, hoping no one has noticed, I hear him ordering a drink for himself and another for me. A moment later, two more glasses thunk onto the counter.
We drink in silence. Nadir’s eyes burn me from the other side of the room, and he’s probably less than a second away from storming his royal Fae ass over.
“You going to talk soon?” Callias asks casually as he turns around to face the room and leans against the bar. He’s just far enough away that anyone watching might not immediately pick up on the fact that he’s addressing me. “Or should I go outside and get Gabriel?”
“What?” I ask, and then press my mouth shut. Shit. Gabriel is here, too?
“That got your attention,” Callias says with a smirk.
“He’s here? Why? Why are you here?”
“I saw him wandering around. He’s hard to miss, with the wings and all. And can’t a Fae come to The Umbra for a drink on his day off? It’s very fashionable to do so, you know.”
“Is it? Coming to slum it with the persecuted? How very… classy,” I say, and Callias smiles.
“I’ve missed that attitude, Final Tribute. Where have you been?”
My gaze flickers across the room. Nadir is now sitting forward, watching me and Callias with all the intensity of a falcon stalking a mouse from the sky. I give him a pointed look that I hope sends the message that he’s to stay where he is. Not that I really expect him to do anything I say.
Tristan is looking over as well, a line forming between his brows. He exchanges a look with Nadir in a rare show of camaraderie. I need to get all of us out of here.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say, pushing myself from the bar and hiking my collar around my neck. “Please forget you saw me.”
It’s not like Callias owes me anything, but we bonded during the Trials, and I’m hoping that’s enough to stop him from ratting me out.
Keeping my eyes on my feet, I brush past, weaving through the increasingly drunken crowd, and burst outside. The Umbra isn’t exactly what I imagined when I first heard about it. Yes, I’d expected it to be destitute, but the truth is more complicated than that.
Wealthy low fae who have been corralled within its boundaries have done their best to fix up the shabby, run-down buildings. I’ve been told The Umbra has always existed as an “unofficial” twenty-fifth district, though it’s never been referred to that way. When Atlas took the crown a century ago, he forced the low fae to relocate within its borders, seizing whatever property they owned and redistributing it to the nobility.
What kind of monster would do that? Once again, I curse my absolute stupidity and naivety during the Trials. Atlas had me totally fooled.
In the past century, the once grand buildings have fallen into disrepair despite the best efforts of its citizens. Their king expends resources to maintain only the other twenty-four districts, leaving The Umbra to its inevitable erosion. I scowl at the building ahead made of faded sandstone. Frescoes and decorative scrolls surround the large windows, while the walls are carved with roses and vines, all dulled and chipped by time.
Here, the destitute rub elbows with the rich, but they all wrestle the same set of chains. There’s so much disparity packed into this tight corner that it feels like a powder keg waiting to explode.
All along, I’d wondered how no one in the palace realized I wasn’t from The Umbra during the Trials, but now I understand it’s because they had no idea what was happening. They’re forbidden from coming too close, and they certainly weren’t allowed to attend the public events. They simply had to swallow what they were told.
That fact is evidenced inside the square where I find myself. A High Fae male stands on a platform with his fist raised towards the crowd gathering around him. They’re all fed up with this treatment, and they’ve found a leader to rally for their cause. Someone who has a better chance of pulling the ear of the king in a way the low fae could never hope to.
“What happened?” asks a low voice to my left, and I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Nadir. Even if I didn’t know his voice like my own heart, my magic jumps when he brushes against me. I adjust my position so we’re no longer touching without trying to make it too obvious. I don’t want to hurt him, but I’m attempting to keep some distance.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just needed to get some air.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“No one. Just someone who wanted to buy me a drink.”
I ignore his low growl before I stalk away, trying to lose myself in the crowd and wondering where Tristan is. Our instructions are to always meet back at home base if we find ourselves separated. I don’t have to turn around to know Nadir is on my heels. I feel him everywhere.
“For too long, the Sun King has treated you like second-class citizens!” booms the man currently stoking the crowd. His name is Erevan, and despite being High Fae, he’s become the leader of their growing rebellion. He wears a simple brown suede tunic and vest, though they’re clearly well-made. His wavy blond hair is tied at his nape, and his bright blue eyes sweep over the crowd, who admire him with a manic sense of adoring fervor.
He raises a fist to the sky, and hundreds more raise up to a chorus of passionate cheers. “He keeps you within these walls! He keeps you from living anywhere but these crumbling houses! He keeps you from doing business with the High Fae! He forbids you from using your magic. And why? Because he fears you! Because he fears what your magic can do!”
“Yah!” comes another chorus of agreement, and the charge in the air is turning frenzied. Erevan lists a ream of grievances done to their people, and each one just sounds worse and worse. I don’t blame any of them for feeling this way and wonder how we can help while we’re here. Of course, Nadir has said we need to stay out of it, but I don’t plan on listening to him anytime soon.
That’s when I notice a pair of white feathered wings, and I halt in my tracks. Nadir practically crashes into me because he’s following so closely. Thankfully, it isn’t Gabriel, but it is one of the other warders who could recognize me. I think his name is Jareth. I remember him interrupting my first dinner with Atlas during the Trials. As I scan the square, I see more milling about. What are they doing here? Are they here to stop Erevan?
Their postures are casual as they stroll through the square, listening to him rouse the crowd with impassive expressions.
A warning burns up the base of my spine. Has Erevan noticed their arrival? Shouldn’t he stop this? It’s one thing to revile the king openly but quite another to do it right in the presence of his most trusted servants.
Erevan shouts something else, and that’s when I notice the slightest dip in his voice as the blush pales on his cheeks. He’s just taken note of the warders, but he doesn’t back down, continuing his tirade of crimes committed by the king, his voice pitching louder. His bravery is impressive. Or stupid.
Movement catches the corner of my eye as more bodies flood down alleyways towards the square—soldiers dressed in the Sun King’s uniforms.
“Where’s Tris?” I ask, spinning around. I pray he’s still safely inside the bar.
“I’m not sure,” Nadir says, “but we should get out of here. He’ll meet us at the house.”
His gaze follows the same path as mine, and it’s clear he’s noticed the same thing. Shit is about to go down.
Unfortunately, just as we’re about to make our exit, said shit breaks out completely. There’s barely a second of warning before the king’s army spills into the plaza to a chorus of panicked screams. The crowd moves like a wall, shoving and pushing, as everyone scrambles to evacuate.
A body crashes into me, knocking me back so hard I nearly stumble, barely catching myself at the last moment. An unfamiliar crowd surrounds me, and I can’t see where Nadir ended up. It doesn’t matter, I remind myself. He can take care of himself. I need to get out of here and take cover before someone recognizes me.
Another surge of bodies drags me towards the center of the square, and I fight against it, elbows out, clawing my way in the opposite direction. Hoping I don’t inflict too much damage on someone who doesn’t deserve it, I battle against the crush.
It feels like it takes forever, the cacophony reaching ear-piercing levels. There are screams and the sounds of steel clashing on steel. “Rebels” are cut down without mercy to the thunk of bodies hitting stone and the sound of keening wails.
Another one of the king’s rules prevents low fae from purchasing weapons, and thus, they have to rely on whatever relics they can find or whatever they can cobble together, leaving them mostly unarmed and outmatched.
I need to get out. I keep pushing and pushing until finally I burst through the edge of the crowd. A stream of people flows away from the square, trying to seek cover, but guards block every exit. It’s absolute chaos. I spot an unmanned alley and approach it, trying to keep ahead of the river of Fae and humans. Tugging down my hat, I finally reach the exit, casting a look over my shoulder before I duck into the safety of the shadows.
Then I turn around and crash into a brick wall.
“Oof,” I cry, stumbling back until an arm catches me, pulling me up.
It isn’t a wall, after all.
It’s a High Fae male.
With snowy white wings and golden armor. With angry blue eyes and wavy blond hair.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Final Tribute?” Gabriel snarls in my face.